Moments of Realization
by kitsunerei88
Summary: Fanfiction of murkybluematter's The Pureblood Pretense series (the Rigel Black Chronicles). A collection of the moments in which various characters discover or realize the ruse, and their reactions.
1. Aldon

Moments of Realization

Summary: Fanfiction of murkybluematter's The Pureblood Pretense series. A collection of the moments in which various character discover or realize the ruse, and their reactions.

AN: So for clarity, this is fanfiction of a fanfiction, being _The Pureblood Pretense_ series by the excellent Violet (murkybluematter), who hopefully doesn't mind me appropriating her characters for this series! If you haven't read it – you need to set aside a few days now to read it. If you have, hopefully this ficlet tides you over before the next chapter is out!

XXX

Aldon woke up in a cold sweat, his mind already whirring.

He had no idea what made him think of such a thing, but he had long since learned that his instincts were good, and his sleeping brain was, in some respects, more … _flexible_ than his awake one. It didn't make any sense, but then… it also _did_.

He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it in a way that he knew would take half an hour to get it to sit right again, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. They were just _too similar_. Rigel Black, and Harriet Potter … just a little _too similar_.

He had said as much, a year ago, hadn't he? They were too similar to marry. And with Rigel's knowledge of the legislation in first year, the timing of the engagement was, he thought, a little _too_ suspicious. He always thought, once Rigel had mentioned the engagement, it was really for Harriet's protection. But if Rigel Black was also …

His head hurt. A glass of water would help. He staggered out of his bed, tossing his sheets aside carelessly, making his way to the bathroom he shared with Edmund.

"Aldon?" A low gravelly voice asked. Curse Edmund – he always was a light sleeper.

"I'm fine," he replied lightly after a pause to slow his breathing. "It's nothing."

It _was_ nothing, right? Harriet Potter couldn't possibly be Rigel Black as well. There _were_ two of them at last year's gala – Harriet Potter was clearly a separate person from Rigel Black. They both clearly existed, even the official records and old society pages agreed. Harriet Potter, eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Potter – and Arcturus Rigel Black, the heir to the Noble and most Ancient House of Black. They both _existed._

Aldon stared into the mirror – his golden eyes, the trademark of House Rosier, were wide, and a light sheen of sweat covered his brow. He shook his head, turned on the faucet and splashed cool water onto his face.

Yet, all of Rigel's friends had remarked that he was uncommonly distracted that night, more scatterbrained than they were accustomed to from their mysterious friend, and Aldon himself had been rather preoccupied with Harriet, hadn't he? Rigel certainly explained it away easily enough with concern over his dear cousin…

His mind lit back on the connection his sleeping brain had made. They were still _too similar_. Yes, he only had a few minutes with Harriet, though those minutes felt familiar. She was so much like Rigel, though a little more open, a little less reserved. And Rigel, that night, had been distracted, a little different, a little less reserved.

He took a deep breath, toweled off his face and quietly slipped back behind his hangings, settling neatly in a cross-legged position in his bed.

He was smart. His sleeping brain was a little more open, yes, a little better at creative solutions, but not always right. And apparently, his idiot brain was not letting go of this thought, so he may as well follow it through. Surely he could reason himself out of this sudden conviction that Rigel Black and Harriet Potter were the _same person_.

He threw himself down the rabbit hole.

Say that, hypothetically, Rigel Black and Harriet Potter were the same person.

Well, first, there were actually two of them. One Arcturus Rigel Black, and one Harriet Potter. That was problem number one. Could one of them be an actor? No, based on the interactions both had with their families and that Rigel had had with his friends that night, unlikely – a paid actor would not have been able to pull it off so convincingly. No, if anyone was acting, they were right in the thick of it. And, unless the Blacks and Potters and the Ministry's department of vital statistics were in it together, there were actually two of them – one Arcturus Rigel Black, and one Harriett Potter.

Unbidden, another memory struck. He was in fifth year, prying Rigel about his future plans – the boy was reading a healing textbook, of all things, even though he was clearly extraordinarily dedicated to his potions pursuit. He knew that Rigel's cousin attended the American Institute of Magic, and sent along her Healing notes for him. By all accounts, he remembered, piecing together the bits of rumour he had heard from Rigel's yearmates and his own eavesdropping, Harriet had also been described as being, if possible, _more_ interested in potions than Rigel. Then why Healing? And why did Rigel also study Healing, if both of Harriet and Rigel were so dedicated to healing?

Aldon's fingers traced a pattern in his bedclothes. Two people, one Arcturus Rigel Black, one Harriet Potter. Two passions, apparently – Healing, and Potions. One pureblooded, Arcturus Rigel Black and one halfblooded, Harriet Potter. Two enrollments in two different schools – one at the American Institute of Magic, the school with the best healing program worldwide, and one at Hogwarts, the school with the best general education and access to Potions Master Severus Snape?

It was crazy, utterly insane, but what if they simply… traded places?

It was beautifully, marvellously simple. If the real Arcturus Rigel Black was interested in healing, which would certainly make sense given his mother's death, then of course he would have been uncomfortable at last year's gala – he would be playing the role of Rigel Black for the benefit of Harriet's friends. And it would explain, too, why Harriet seemed so _comfortable_ with him, and so much like Rigel.

And it explained Rigel's notorious secretiveness – he would be a girl, masquerading as a boy. Of course he would be cautious of physical contact, whatever lie he had fed to Draco clearly keeping the other boy off his trail. It explained Rigel's study of healing when Potions was clearly his, or rather _her_ , forte – if she was supposedly at the American Institute of Magic learning healing, surely she would actually need to know healing. It even explained that bizarre thing in first year, where the boy hadn't bothered getting his broken wrist healed, and in second-year, in the carriages, when he had mistakenly asked if she accompanied her uncle to volunteer at St. Mungos. At the time, it had been an honest mistake, and when she didn't deny it, he had though she was just distracted by the sight of the thestrals. In fact…

In fact, it explained more things than it didn't. Sure, there were some things that didn't make sense, such as _why_ they looked so similar, or how Harriet was able to masquerade as a boy… but overall, it made better sense than simply figuring that they were so similar because they had grown up together. No two people were _that_ similar.

He paused, tapping his lower lip with one well-manicured fingertip.

If his thought was true, that meant Harriet – or Rigel – had committed blood identity theft to attend Hogwarts. Blood identity theft was no small crime, leading towards a lifelong sentence in Azkaban – though, he amended, it was likely that, in these circumstances, it was more likely to lead to Rigel claiming blood refugee status in America or Australia.

Either way, if it was true, and even if it wasn't, revealing his knowledge would seal Rigel – or Harriet – far away from him, which was not his intention. And not in his interests, either.

Actually…. He paused, cocked his head to one side and let a smirk leak onto his face. Actually, if Rigel ended up being Harriet, that certainly solved some problems for him, didn't it?


	2. Leo

AN: Thank you all so much for your comments! As a clarification, this is essentially a short story collection of the moments other characters realize the ruse - and their reactions. So unfortunately, no, this episode is not more Aldon (though I also love Aldon/Harry and I may very well write more of that sometime!), but here we go with... Leo!

XXX

He had promised Harry he wouldn't pry, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't take the opportunity, when it presented itself, to talk to her charming, self-professed best friend: Hermione Granger.

"Honestly," she chided him, almost like his mother would have, as if he hadn't specifically gone to the young intern rather than Eleni Hurst. "You should really be more careful."

It was a small cut, lengthwise against his palm, and not usually the kind of thing he would have gone to Maywell's for, but why not take the opportunity when he knew that Hermione was there?

"I know, but Harry's potions knives are surprisingly sharp," he replied easily. That was true – Harry's potion kit had many sharp knives. The fact that he had replied with a non-sequitur, well, Hermione didn't need to know that. It would be better for her to think he had been helping Harry with her potions, anyway. She didn't need to know that he had simply been cut in a practice bout that morning, or that Harry hadn't been there, having been caught up in some errand or another.

"Why didn't Harry heal it for you?" Hermione asked, a hint of confusion on her voice. "He is the best in our class at cosmetic healing…"

"Oh, he didn't want to put the cauldron on stasis," Leo lied breezily. Just because he _preferred_ to reply with truthful non-sequiturs didn't mean he had a particular aversion to lying. He was the King of Thieves, after all. "Potions don't always take well to stasis charms, and anyway, it's not that bad."

"Hmm," Hermione replied suspiciously, but she poked her wand at his hand anyway. "That doesn't sound like him…"

"What do you mean?" Leo asked, nonchalant. This wasn't the first time she had mentioned something offhandedly like this, nor the first time they had discussed their odd friend – had it been, the kind of questions he asked would be a sure way to raise suspicion. Still, this was the reason he had been popping by the clinic a few more times than normal, with the kind of injuries he wouldn't normally bother with. Hermione was clearly good friends with Harry, based on the number of times she referenced him in casual conversation, but also the kind of good friend that, in his nearly three years of knowing her, Harry had never once mentioned. Overall, the whole thing was … odd.

She frowned at his cut, which was growing smaller by the second. "Hmm… well, it's nothing _that_ unusual, I suppose," she demurred, nodding in satisfaction as his cut disappeared. "He did do that potions internship last year without telling me, and he has always been very good at potions at school, too. At school he's very focused on Healing, though. But it's not unusual for people to be different at school than they are at home."

"Really? What is Harry like at school?" He smiled disarmingly, flexing his hand, being sure to keep his tone light. "I only ever see him during the summers, so I can't imagine it."

"Hmm…" Hermione considered it, and he held his breath. Well, he didn't really hold his breath, but in his imagination he did. "He pays more attention to his clothes, and he's really into pranks. In our second week at school, he got his shoe stuck to the ceiling with gum, somehow. And he flirts outrageously, but I suppose he must be more relaxed at school than at home. Really, it's not that big of a difference, I suppose."

Leo laughed out loud and agreed with her, but his mind was whirring.

XXX

One of the oddest things about Harry, really, was the fact that she pretended to be a boy. And, even odder, whereas it was evident that she pretended to be a boy in Britain in a half-hearted manner at best, never becoming truly angry if anyone discovered she wasn't, it was clear that she was much more adamant about being a boy at school, if "flirting outrageously" was a qualifier. He had never gotten a reason for _why_ Harry let people believe that she was a boy, only that, whatever it was, it was an important reason.

And there was that apartment. Harry acknowledged that the apartment was hers, and she paid rent on it, but she didn't use it for anything that he could imagine. She just rented it, and it was apparently fine if he knew that she rented it, but she had explicitly told him to remember nothing else about the place. It was at this apartment that he sat, now, brooding on the loveseat that he had procured for her. She didn't live here, but then – he was never to say that this was not lived in. He remembered the steely resolve in her eyes as she pressed those words into him.

And, based on what Hermione had said, apparently Harry was a completely different person in America. He couldn't imagine Harry, _his_ Harry, flirting outrageously with anyone, playing pranks, or caring about her clothes. In fact, of those three things, the third was the most important. People didn't just _change_ the way they dealt with their clothes. Clothing was something that someone dealt with every day – someone that did not care for fashion could not be trained to care for fashion _every day_. It just wasn't right. And that was on top of the fact, of course, that Hermione was apparently a very good friend, one close enough to know stories about Harry's escapades as early as her first year, that Harry had _never_ mentioned before this summer. In fact, _his_ Harry wasn't, as far as he knew, even remotely interested in pranks.

The only conclusion he could come up with was that Harry, the Harry that Hermione knew, was a very different person from _his_ Harry. _His_ Harry cared for virtually nothing except for potions, though she knew how to heal, and cared even less for her clothing. _His_ Harry certainly let people believe that she was a boy, but she never enforced this belief by flirting, or by any other measure. _His_ Harry was simply too different from Hermione's Harry – too different, indeed, to be the same _literal_ person.

So say that was true – say that Hermione's Harry was _literally_ a different person than his Harry. What options did that leave him?

Well, first, he knew that his Harry wasn't at home during the school year. She had as much told him so. However, neither was she using this apartment; despite the lived-in look it now had, he remembered that first autumn when he had first clambered through the windows, finding the place empty, soulless, dusty. Even now, when he looked around at the small apartment, it was full of the same furniture he had bought for her, left in the same bland, unoriginal style that he had set it up in. There were no crumbs on the countertops, no clothes overflowing from baskets on the floor in the bedrooms, no debris of life coating the tables or in the sinks. She wasn't living here.

So, she was elsewhere.

He groaned aloud, flopping sideways onto the loveseat and swinging his legs over the armrest. He tucked one of the handy, if dull, throw cushions under his head. Not being at school, at home, or in her apartment? That _only_ left the rest of the world.

He skipped that problem, for the moment, and went back to Hermione's Harry. _That_ Harry, between Hermione's words this morning, and her offhand comments when she didn't necessarily know he was listening, _that_ Harry was impertinent and earnest to a fault. He was a flirt, but dedicated to his Healing studies, though equally excellent at potions. They were both top of the class, Hermione in most subjects but Harry second, and the order reversed, sometimes, in potions and in Healing. He cared about his clothing, and played pranks. _That_ Harry, too, apparently looked and acted enoughlike his Harry that Hermione didn't, apparently, doubt they were the same person. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around – perhaps _his_ Harry acted enough like _her_ Harry that she didn't doubt they were the same person, small differences aside?

Who looked, and acted, enough like someone that even their self-professed best friend didn't doubt they were that person? They would have to know the person very well, well enough to act out the other person's traits. They would also have to look like that person, because Leo would give up his title if Hermione's Harry hadn't been in her sight for more than an hour at a time over the past three years. Someone who had known Harry her whole life, grown up with her, would be ideal.

Like a relative.

He sat up, bolt upright, swinging his legs back onto the floor. He knew someone like that – someone who fit both Hermione's description and who looked like Harry. Didn't they comment on it, the one time that Harry had brought him into the alleys? They weren't related, yet they looked uncommonly alike – a trait they had, at the time, simply attributed to good old noble inbreeding. But pureblood genetics, being what they were, meant that the families still largely remained distinct, even if they all developed very delicate looks. There was no rumour that he knew of placing the Potter and Black family trees close enough together that they would look alike. And they had grown up together – they were close enough that Harry, his secretive Harry, didn't bat an eye at bringing him down into the alleys.

Arcturus Rigel Black, also known as Archie, also fit Hermione's description. He was better dressed than Harry was – he actually looked, and dressed, like nobility. His clothing, even for a run into the alleys, was of a light, fine fabric, subtle to the eye but noticeable, and he carried himself like a noble. He was friendly, earnestly so, and adapted well to new situations. Though he was flustered by Rispah's usual antics, he recovered quickly. He could see Archie being a prankster, particularly given his background and connection to the Marauders – really, it was more surprising than otherwise that Harry wasn't into pranking, being a Potter.

And that background, too, fit wonderfully. Didn't his mother once mention that Lord Sirius Black, a regular volunteer at St. Mungo's, had lost his wife to illness? Something about how it was good for him to get back into the children's ward to volunteer, after being shut away for so long. That fit well – maybe too well.

And if Archie played at being Harry in America, then it would, of course, be logical for Harry to play Archie at Hogwarts, wouldn't it?

She had some explaining to do.

XXX

"I don't see what you could need to ask that you couldn't ask at the Phoenix," Harry said, exasperated, as Leo pulled her into her own apartment. She had been highly reluctant to follow him, though he noted that she didn't offer any particularly good reason for avoiding it. He pulled out his wand and flicked a rune for silence to each of the apartment's walls. It was a hasty, if effective, ward against eavesdroppers.

Glancing down at her, he could read the guarded uncertainty in her eyes, which had grown several degrees sharper on his casting of the ward.

"Simple question, Harry," he replied. "Are you attending Hogwarts during the year?"

Her green eyes sparked with panic, which was quickly smoothed over while she adopted a look of amusement. She was good, he had to admit – if he hadn't specifically been looking for clues, he might have missed it.

"What do you mean, Leo?" she laughed, the perfect picture of amused relief. "I'm a halfblood – I can't go to Hogwarts."

"You know what I mean, Harry," he said, dropping onto the loveseat and gesturing for her to take a seat. She didn't. "I saw the look of panic you had. Is your cousin attending AIM in your place, while you take his at Hogwarts?"

There was a pause – a very short pause. Harry's hand twitched towards her right, a sign that she was contemplating going for her wand. Before she could decide, he barrelled ahead.

"If you have, it would make a lot of sense. You look alike – I don't know why, I'm not sure I want to know why. You would have to pretend to be a boy, because your cousin is _actually_ a boy, and it fits with you being a boy at AIM, too. And it would make sense with your personality, and his – if Hermione was your cousin's best friend, it would explain why you almost never mention her, but she often mentions you in casual conversation. And it would explain her description of you at school too, because the person she describes is not you."

She frowned at him, and he could tell by the positioning of her hand that she was still thinking about going for her wand.

"And there's no point obliviating me. Since I put the pieces together myself, I'll just do it again."

Harry's hand dropped to her side, and she stalked over to one of the armchairs in the slight apartment and sat down, crossing her arms tersely.

"What is the point of asking me this, Leo?" she demanded. "Either you're right, in which case there is no benefit to anyone and higher risk of discovery for us, or you're wrong, and you've just made a serious accusation against us, to no one's benefit."

"I want to know, Harry, because whatever it is, I want to help you," he replied seriously. "I can't help if I don't know all the details. Harry, I've said this before, but I'm _on your side_. Whatever it is, I'm on your side."

She let out a long breath, and he knew then that he had won. "It's dangerous," she said, feebly.

"That's fine," he grinned. "I _live_ on danger."


	3. Severus

Severus knew it was too good to be true.

He had always known it – his life was a parade of things that were too good to be true being exactly so. When was the last time he dared to hope? Was it with Lily? Or was it even earlier, with Hogwarts? Or maybe it was even earlier, at home? He had always been an awkward child, a disappointment to his muggle father and his wizard relations both – too strange for his muggle relations, too tainted for his wizarding family, particularly in the changing political climate. He remembered well those changes – at first, just disapproval of his mother, and then, not even a decade later, outright rejection. He remembered moving from a genteel, if somewhat poor family, to an absolutely impoverished one. He remembered coming to Hogwarts and hoping that, for once in his life, he would fit in – there were other half-bloods, then, and even if Lily, his best friend Lily, a muggleborn, couldn't come too… well, at least he would be away from home and at least there was the chance that other children wouldn't have such preconceived notions. Then James Potter happened, and Sirius Black, and his schoolboy years turned like old dairy. And then, of course, the bitterest disappointment of all – when Lily, his best friend, whose letters from America could brighten the worst of his days, turned on him and married James Potter.

They were not good memories, and suffice it to say, Severus was used to disappointment.

So when Rigel Black stepped into his life, he could be forgiven for first thinking it was a trick, an elaborate prank of some kind. The boy _was_ the son of Sirius Black, and who could have known he would fall so far from the tree? And really, if it wasn't for that bizarre, strange form of Legilimency the boy unintentionally employed that first night, he wasn't sure if he would have believed it. Being in the boy's mind and experiencing first-hand his all-encompassing passion for potions (which, truth be told, was slightly unhealthy) was unequivocal evidence – even though he had never heard of anything like it happening before, and further research hadn't revealed any leads either. Discreet inquiries among his Occlumens colleagues, too, had yielded nothing.

But it had taken only a few short months for the illusion of perfection to crack. Not in the sense that Severus had expected, not in the boy's potions ability, not even in the sense that he had been _tricked_. No, Rigel Black was everything that Severus had dreamed of in an apprentice – but he also had secrets.

At first, Severus didn't _care_. Severus had worked at Hogwarts for almost a decade, and he was not unfamiliar with children. Children had secrets, and they were inevitably petty ones.

Nothing in that first year made him believe otherwise. The first clues, such as they were, were minor. There was the issue with the boy's wand – while many children would have welcomed the opportunity to see their families, and in spite of the notoriously close relationship Black was rumoured to have with his father, the boy had begged Severus to take him to Diagon Alley for a replacement. But that was easily explained – perhaps Black was embarrassed, and he said himself that he didn't want be seen as getting special treatment. Again, on the night Severus had examined the boy's core, although the boy had inquired perhaps overly much about the information Severus would be able to glean from his core before providing his consent, that, too, was consistent with some petty secret of the childish variety. So Severus simply didn't care.

It was in Black's second year that Severus realized that whatever it was, whatever Black was hiding was _serious._ It was the morning of that ridiculous Woody prank, when Rigel had been caught red-handed in disguise. They had argued, that morning, about why Rigel had done it, and about other things. But the thing that stood out most in Severus' memory of that morning were Rigel's words:

 _My father will pull me out of Hogwarts so fast, it will be as if Rigel Black never existed._

It wasn't so much the words themselves – children were prone to drama, and Rigel was, frankly, no exception. It was the way Rigel said it, the look on his normally blank face as he said it, the sheer conviction in his eyes that Severus remembered. Rigel hadn't cried, he hadn't yelled – it was a statement to him, a flat statement of truth, and his normally expressionless face had adopted an expression of sheer certainty. It was truth – or certainly Rigel believed it was truth, and somehow…

Somehow, Severus had believed it, and let Rigel go on. Be he kept watching, this time, and soon realized that Rigel wasn't _normal_.

Normal children groaned when Severus assigned more homework than usual – not in his hearing, usually, but he knew about it. Normal children complained. Normal children lounged when the professors weren't watching, normal children expressed themselves in loud, often annoying, ways. Normal children didn't express their emotions in the exact same contrived way each time. Normal children _relaxed_.

Rigel simply never, ever, relaxed. Rigel was always poised, always calm – he always reacted to the same things in essentially the same way. When he had a question, he tilted his head to one side. When he was engaged, or interested, or when he thought he ought to be, he had the same polite smile. He was never unguarded - he did not lounge in class, did not relax even when he believed no one was watching. The explanation that his magic tended to react disproportionately to his emotions only went so far.

Draco's information, too, was only more suspicious. Rigel slept in his clothes, even though Draco had seen sleeping clothes folded in his trunk. Rigel slept on his covers, and only changed in the bathrooms. He avoided physical affection to an unhealthy degree.

Rigel was too _controlled_ to be normal, and in Severus' experience and knowledge, that meant that whatever secret he was hiding was so consuming, so immense, that Rigel could simply never relax. Really, though; Rigel never did anything normally, so why would his secrets be normal?

Severus had thought, then, that whatever it was, he would discover it soon enough. Seven years was too long, and Hogwarts too small, for secrets of the immense variety to stay secrets for long.

He wondered at what point he _simply stopped wanting to know._

Was it in Rigel's third year, when he finally met Rigel's mysterious cousin, Harry Potter? Was it when Rigel told him that Shaped Imbuing was his cousin's invention, and not his own? Was it when Rigel claimed, repeatedly, that his cousin was, if anything, _better_ at potions than he was?

Frankly, Rigel Black was extraordinary at potions. Severus had never seen anyone as interested, as passionate about his field as Rigel, and that was frankly somewhat unnerving considering that he was a member of the Potions Guild. He thought he had seen the extent of obsession at the Guild, but that was before he met Rigel Black. Rigel Black redefined potions obsession. And yet, somehow, Harry Potter was supposedly _more skilled,_ _more obsessed,_ and _more interested?_

Severus didn't believe it. He had been the youngest Potions Master in the English Guild's history, taking his Mastery at nineteen, and it would not be flattery to say that he was perhaps the most accomplished Potions Master in Britain in the last century. Rigel promised to outshine him. He couldn't believe that the boy's cousin was, if anything, even better than him. It simply defied the odds.

And yet, having met Harry Potter, and then having worked with her, he was shocked to find that Harry was apparently everything Rigel promised she would be. Based on his admittedly limited experience with her, he couldn't tell if she was _better_ than Rigel, but she was certainly his equal, which was improbable enough. It didn't make any sense.

That incident last winter at the annual gala, too, had been demonstrative. Seeing the two of them together, he had realized just how much they looked alike. The resemblance was truly uncanny – they resembled twins, though in truth they were not closely related by blood. Severus had heard a rumour that the boy had passive metamorphic talent that had tied itself to her, and while he had never heard of such a thing, there had be some explanation for their similarity.

It wasn't Polyjuice. He had checked for that, after seeing Rigel's features blurring later that year.

Harder to explain, though, was the use of wands. Aside from Rigel's metamorphic talent tying itself to her physically, could it explain how they could apparently use each other's wands without any problems? Could a wand have dual allegiances, and how did that work with Rigel? Severus well knew Rigel's trouble with others' wands, since he had used an improperly bonded wand for the first month of school, so the fact that he apparently had no problem with the girl's wand… well, that was both improbable and inexplicable.

The whole thing made no sense. Severus felt like there was something _wrong_ about this whole situation, something that if he could only put the pieces together, he would realize. But whatever it was, whatever was so wrong and improbable … Severus was no longer sure he wanted to know. There was something about it, an animal instinct, that told him to look away, to ignore the consistencies and let it all slide.

So he focused, instead, on their differences. Harry Potter was, in comparison to Rigel, rather open. She was frank in her manner and, while she clearly respected him, she responded frankly to his questions and did not appear intimidated by him. Personality-wise, she was different from the boy.

She also apparently had a different set of skills, at least in one area. She could actively manipulate her aura – Rigel did not have an aura, but she did, and it was an innocuous enough one that he had not doubted it until he had noticed that her magical reserves did not appear to change, even after exhausting a fair amount of magic. This was not a skill that Rigel had, as far as Severus knew.

They were different people, Severus reassured himself. They were different. They did have slightly different interests, and they did have different skills. The fact that they were also uncommonly similar, and they were both apparently Potions prodigies, well, that could be explained at least partially by their close friendship.

It was odd – but then, when all the possible explanations had been exhausted, the impossible must be true. So Rigel Black studied Potions at Hogwarts, while his father believed he wanted to be a Healer, and Harry Potter studied Potions at the American Institute of Magic, while she really wanted to study Potions. And both of them were equal prodigies in his field of study, a field notorious for its difficulty.

Severus wondered at what point the inconsistencies would weigh too heavy, and he would not be able to ignore them any longer.

AN: Thanks, everyone, for all the reviews and follows! This chapter was a difficult one to write - there's something about this that is vaguely unsatisfactory, but I can't quite put my finger on it. In short, I think Snape is one of the characters that truly has enough of the pieces to guess, but he doesn't because he just doesn't want to know.


	4. Remus

It was embarrassing to admit, in retrospect, but it was the accent that put him on it.

Yes, he had noticed things before – tiny details, most of them. At Hogwarts, Archie had always _smelled_ a little different. The scent was wrong, overlaid or underlaid by something different, other. But he didn't think much of it, then, because it wasn't as if he smelled like anyone else he knew, either. He had thought, perhaps, his senses had simply been confused by the number of students at Hogwarts, by adapting to a new environment, and perhaps Archie had been experimenting with colognes. It was the sort of thing that Sirius' son would do.

Even that night, after Archie had been rescued from that cave of horrors, he had thought his senses confused. Archie didn't smell like Archie, that night – neither like the scent he had known at home, nor the scent he had associated with him at school. But so much had happened that night, and he had admittedly been focused on Sirius, and he hadn't really thought much about it.

He never realized, even after returning home, that _not-Archie_ that night really smelled like… well, Harry. And as a werewolf, and as one of the most controlled of his kind, that was frankly embarrassing.

It wasn't the scent that put him on it, even though it should have been. It was the _accent_. Archie spoke with broader vowels and clearer enunciation than Harry did, and every so often, when he eavesdropped on the cousins, he used slang that Harry simply didn't going to Hogwarts, he had simply thought that the words, rare as they were, were the new youth slang. But he never heard them at Hogwarts, and, the more he thought about it, he realized that Archie didn't really sound like the rest of their family, either.

Harry, like Lily and Remus himself, spoke with clear Received Pronunciation, though her accent was modulated somewhat by James' posh consonants. Archie, like Sirius, had had a posh accent, though his had always been softer than Sirius'. Now, though, his accent still had undertones of Sirius' upper class, but it was … different.

When he thought about it further, it didn't make sense. Why would Archie's accent be different? All of his friends – the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Notts, Zabinis, Bulstrodes – were of the same social class as the Blacks. Archie's accent, if anything, ought to have become _more_ upper class, and yet, it hadn't.

In contrast, Harry's accent had effectively remained unchanged, despite years of living in America. If anyone were inflexible enough to prevent that inevitable change, it would be Harry; but, when put together with Archie's changing accent, it was decisively odd.

It was over dinner, one night at Grimmauld Place, that the pieces had clicked. Both Harry and Archie were there, Archie cajoling his cousin into giving him her second slice of pie, Harry rolling her eyes in acquiescence, remarking on something in her dry, slightly caustic manner. He didn't remember what he said, exactly, but that wasn't important. Their words, though, were familiar, as familiar as their scents, and at first he simply relaxed in the comforting embrace of his family. He listened to them banter with half an ear, and it was perhaps that very inattention that caught it.

What was important was the contrast their accents made, slight as it was – it was different, as different to his ears as their scents were to his nose. He wondered, first, when that had happened – their accents had always been slightly different, of course, but not in that way. Had Archie's enunciation ever been so clear before? He hadn't remembered it being so, and it hadn't been that way at school, either. When had that happened? He frowned slightly, then smoothed his brow before his friends could notice. _That didn't make any sense._

Subtly, he had drawn in a breath. Of all the werewolf senses, scent was the sharpest, and the one he most preferred. While some scents, tolerable as humans, were stronger and overwhelming as a werewolf, there was something wondrous about being able to draw in a breath and identify the persons he was with without looking, to know, without asking, what was in the oven when he walked in, to map his world in scents as people did with sight and sound and touch.

And their scents, too, were different – alarmingly so. His nose told him clearly that he was in a room with his family, James and Sirius and Lily, Harry and Archie, Addy, and they had recently finished a meal of roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes and sautéed vegetables. There was a pie for dessert, and he smelled the tart sweetness of strawberries and rhubarb and caramelised sugar. And Harry was there, her scent changing with age but still complex and spicy, overlaid with the scent of her cauldron, and Archie was there, his scent lit with notes of the spearmint in his soap, lightly medicinal, without the complex notes of potions ingredients and old books and _other_ that Remus had associated with him at school.

That was when it hit him – that Archie's scent was not one and the same as Rigel's scent, beyond simply the differences of being at school and at home and beyond the overlay of their daily activities. Their core scents were different – Harry's had always been spicy, complex to his nose, and Archie's clean and clear. And Rigel's?

Rigel's scent had always been a combination of the two – a complex, clean scent with notes of mint and spice. Except for the time, shortly after his ordeal, when his scent had been spices, overlaid with the harsh smells of the Hospital Wing. On that occasion, and on that occasion alone, Rigel's scent had been… Harry's.

He sharpened his gaze on the two cousins, Archie now stuffing his face happily with the remainder of Harry's pie, and Harry, leaning back in her chair with a glass of milk, smiling reservedly, watching him enjoy himself. They looked too similar to be natural, and while Remus understood Sirius' theory, scents didn't lie. If Rigel sounded like Harry, smelled like Harry, and looked like Harry, then the most logical explanation was, simply, that Rigel _was Harry_.

And with that thought, so many other pieces fell into place. Remus prided himself as being the closest relative, emotionally, to Harry. While James and Lily were parents par excellence, while he had no doubt that Harry loved her parents unconditionally, Remus had always, he thought, understood her best. She was similarly theoretical, similarly academic, with a deep core of stubbornness that pushed her to doing the impossible. She had always worshipped Severus Snape, and given her interests, and Archie's well-known desire to go to AIM to learn Healing… was it out of the range of possibility that they had switched places?

He purposely left his face relaxed, mildly engaged in his friends' conversations, even as the bottom dropped from his stomach. They absolutely would have done something like that, if they had thought of it. Harry had no fear, and while some might have thought that Archie wouldn't have gone along with it, Remus knew well Archie's fervent devotion to Healing. Archie might not have been able to work out the details for himself, but Harry would have been able to plan it, and as well as the cousins knew each other and as close as they were… had they thought to switch places, had they determined the risks were worth it, there was no question that they would have done it.

And if they did, if they _did_ switch places… it would explain the extent to which Archie had avoided him, that year at Hogwarts. Both Harry and Archie were aware of his condition, and would have been exceptionally cautious of his senses. It spoke more to his inattention to his senses that he still hadn't noticed.

It explained Rigel's reputation at school. Remus had always thought Archie was much less exuberant, more reserved, at school. Then again, he only saw Archie at meals and in class, and so he had figured that perhaps he only saw Archie in particular circumstances where he would be more reserved. His Sorting into Slytherin House, too, would have had an impact – Slytherins had always prized propriety above the other Houses, so perhaps a reserved personality was expected in classes and at dinner. However, if it was Harry attending Hogwarts, then her reserved personality would simply be a reflection of her actual personality – Harry was _actually_ reserved, and _actually_ academic and studious. Rigel's personality, frankly, was much more Harry than it was Archie.

And the dueling! Archie had never shown an interest in dueling at home – that was all Harry. Harry was the one who sought Remus out for personal fitness and dueling. Harry was the one who went out on runs and trained illegally in the Lower Alleys. _Harry_ was the one who entered herself into an illegal free-dueling competition. It was _Harry_ , not Archie, who had the fitness reflecting a certain Rigel Black.

Remus felt like a fool. It didn't answer everything, of course, including why the two looked like twins instead of cousins, but Remus didn't put it past the cousins to solve trifling problems like that. Perhaps Archie _was_ a Metamorphagus.

The only question now, of course, was what to do about it.

XXX

It took him three days to decide.

He considered telling his friends. Certainly, it would have been the most prudent thing to do – surely their parents had a right to know. But something stopped him – was it the fact that, as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, James would have had to arrest his daughter? Was it the fact that it would have killed Lily to see her eldest daughter go to Azkaban? Was the fact that Sirius, so recently recovered from Diana's loss, would lose the newfound enjoyment of connecting with old family and friends? Was it the inevitable fact that doing so would irreversibly destroy Harry's and Archie's dreams?

Or was simply it the fact that Remus himself found it unfair that he, as a halfblood werewolf, twenty years ago, could attend Hogwarts, but Harry, as a gifted halfblood girl, could not?

The more he thought about it, the less he inclined he was to tell anyone. He could see no future on that path that led to happiness – at best, Harry would be on the run, and James potentially out of a job, and at worst… that didn't bear thinking on. There was no future, in the current climate, where they would be let off, scot-free. Not for blood identity theft, and certainly not for an ongoing crime. There was little he could do, really, other than trust in the ingenuity of the cousins to keep them safe. Perhaps in a few years, the political climate would change. Perhaps, if the secret were kept a few years longer, it would all be well.

The chances of that were slim, though, and if Remus was a little tougher on Harry in their training sessions that strictly warranted, if he pushed her a little harder than he might otherwise have, well, that was the most he could do to prepare her for the inevitable firestorm.

At least, he thought, no one would be catching his niece unprepared.

XXX

AN: Thanks everyone for reading - and especially thanks to Violet for writing such an awesome series, and for her recent update! :) As always, constructive criticisms welcomed, and hopefully this tides everyone over until another chapter is published!


	5. Hermione

Hermione had always thought that Harry was a singularly odd individual. Her friend (her closest and, some would say, her only) had blown into her life like whirlwind, barraging her with questions on that first plane flight over and drawing her into increasingly complex pranks throughout that year. At first, one would think that Harry was the consummate prankster, that he took nothing seriously – certainly Harry seemed to cultivate that impression. Hermione knew better, though; his carefree demeanour hid an intelligent and calculating mind.

It was that escapade with the Polyjuice Potion, though, that showed that Harry had _secrets_. At first, when he had mentioned the Polyjuice Potion, she had thought it would be just another of his pranks. However, the fact that he _stole_ most of the good Polyjuice – enough, if Hermione had calculated it correctly, for a full 2 days of disguise … She thought, at first, that it would be used in another prank shortly thereafter, but _years_ passed without further mention of the Polyjuice. When she asked Harry about it, finally, he had simply told her that he _couldn't_ tell her, and that she would probably never know.

That didn't sit well with her, as Harry well knew, and she kept a close eye on him afterwards.

XXX

The next time Hermione noticed something was _off_ , it was the beginning of third year. Harry had had an internship at the Potions Guild that summer, a fact which he had mentioned on a few occasions, but not which stood out in her memory. Certainly he was looking forward to it, she thought – Potions had always been one of Harry's best subjects, and he was easily the top in their class for it. Still, for someone as excitable as Harry was, the Guild internship was a subject he raised only on a few occasions, although Hermione understood that it was a rather prestigious thing.

She had gone out of her way to get a copy of the newsletter with his research in it, and had been somewhat surprised to see the nature of his discovery. It wasn't that she believed Harry was _incapable_ of such discoveries – she always knew to look behind his carefully careless personality. It was more that, well, it wasn't anything connected to Healing. Harry's interest in potions was deep, yes, but he was most interested in potions as it related to Healing, not this sort of methodological research that he had presented. It was surprising.

More surprising still was Harry's reaction when she asked him about it. "It was just a bit of fun," he had laughed, then pouted when she, well used to his diversionary tactics at this point, wasn't swayed. He promised her that he would give her a full set of his research notes, more complete than in the Guild newsletter, but she only laid off him when he, quite seriously, told her he didn't want to talk about his Guild project.

She didn't understand the nature of his project, although she prided herself on her keen research ability and intelligence. Even having read the more complete notes he provided her, the most she understood was that his technique was an extension, of sorts, of conscious imbuing – the imbuing of a whole spell rather than a stream of magic. The few times she asked him about it, he simply repeated the theory as outlined in his paper, in nearly the same terms. She supposed that there were only so many ways to describe magical theory, but combined with his avoidance of the topic as much as possible, it was decidedly odd.

She learned, with time, not to ask him about it. But she still remembered.

XXX

She thought she had discovered his secret just after the New Year, in their third year. Harry Potter, or _Harriett_ Potter, was a girl. Or, really – a trans boy. She was honoured to be one of the few in his circle who knew about it.

It answered so many questions: why his letters were always addressed to Harriett Potter, why he never let anyone see him in any state less than fully dressed, maybe even the Polyjuice in first year. Perhaps he was using it to experiment, on the weekends she didn't see him, with a male form. And his secretiveness – for now, Hermione realized that Harry was _secretive_ – that was easily explained by the stigma still attached to being trans. If there was one thing she had realized as a witch, it was that the Wizarding World was, if anything, more conservative than the Muggle one, and that alone gave Harry plenty of reasons to keep his biological sex a secret.

It didn't _quite_ explain the Guild thing, but then, perhaps he associated his Guild internship to being a girl, since he had not hidden his biological sex during that period, or something like that. For a time, Hermione was content to leave it at that.

XXX

It wasn't until Harry took her to the alleys, or shortly thereafter, that Hermione realized there was more to it.

The Harry _she_ knew, quite simply, was not the Harry that met her that day, or that summer. It wasn't anything that this Harry said – taking into account Harry's obvious reticence about his illegal potions brewing, Harry acted as she had come to expect. It wasn't anything that Harry _said_.

It was more what Harry _did_ , that day and on following days that summer, and on the things that Harry _hadn't_ told her before.

Hermione was Harry's best friend – while both of them got along well with their classmates at AIM, Hermione was the one who really knew him. There were things she didn't know, of course – the Polyjuice, the internship, the fact that Harry was a trans boy – but his interests, his personality, his very _character,_ she knew. And the Harry she met that day in Diagon Alley was, simply put, not the same person as the Harry she knew.

The Harry that she knew would never have kept something like the Maywell Clinic a secret from her, even if he needed a place where he could be himself over the summer. The Harry she knew would have been far too excited about the prospect of charity Clinics in general to keep from mentioning it, even if he didn't necessarily tell her about his involvement with the Clinic. And the way Harry acted that day, having broken a law to help a patient at the Clinic, it was clear that Harry _was_ involved at the Maywell Clinic – and both of them being so dedicated to Healing, it wasn't simply surprising that Harry never mentioned the Clinic. It was outright suspicious.

Which brought her to the Clinic itself, and the people who worked there. Healer Hurst, and, more particularly, her son, occasionally referenced Harry in casual conversation – enough that it was obvious that Harry had been close to them for years. And yet Harry hadn't once mentioned either Healer Hurst or Leo Hurst to her at AIM.

For the rest of the summer, Harry would drop by the Clinic every now and then, but nowhere near as often as she expected the cheerful Healer-in-training to visit. It didn't make sense – Harry was devoted to Healing, but he appeared to be occupied by other pursuits all summer. And not just this summer, but the summer previous, as well.

In fact, Harry had shown far more excitement about the internship he had arranged for his cousin, Rigel Black, than he had for himself, or for the internship had done the year previous. Hermione knew that Rigel would be going to the Darien Gap community in Wizarding Colombia, where they had serious problems with infectious diseases – Harry's area of interest. But she knew next to nothing about Harry's own internship at the Potions Guild, and even less about Harry's plans for this summer. She wouldn't be surprised, in fact, if Harry had actually arranged the internship for himself, leaving his cousin Rigel out of it entirely – he had been so enthusiastic about it!

 _Wait._ She backtracked on her thoughts. What if Harry _had_ arranged the internship in Wizarding Colombia for himself? It would explain why he had been so excited about it, and it would explain the differences with the Harry she had met over the summer. If the Harry she met over the summer was not the Harry she was friends with at AIM, it would explain why she had not heard about the Maywell Clinic, or Healer Hurst or Leo. It would explain Harry's reluctance to meet this summer, because it wouldn't be Harry who knew her, but a stand-in.

And if this was an ongoing … thing, this would also explain Harry's ongoing reticence about his Guild internship last year, because the Harry she knew would not be the Harry who did the Guild internship. Harry could not explain his Guild internship project, because he simply hadn't done it.

The more she thought about it, the more compelling the thought was. So say the Harry she met over the summer, this summer, was not the same as the Harry she knew. And say that the Harry who did the Potions Guild internship was also not the one she knew. Then who would it be?

Who other than a certain Arcturus Rigel Black? Hermione had never met Harry's cousin, but she knew that Harry had an exceptionally high opinion of him – he was brilliant, apparently, especially at Potions, but he also sometimes thought about being a Healer. Rigel, too, as Harry often told him, was almost his only friend before coming to AIM – so who else would be able to sham as being Harry for her benefit?

There were things, still, that didn't make sense, but one thing was clear: Hermione had some research to do on a certain Arcturus Rigel Black.

XXX

It was September, and rather than the cool autumn breezes that would have been sweeping across England, the air at AIM was still warm. It was easy, enough, for Hermione to convince Harry to go outside over lunch, and if he was suspicious that she led him to a copse of trees near the edge of the school, away from their classmates, he didn't show it. Harry was observant, though, and Hermione knew that underneath his carefree attitude, he had picked up on her tension.

"A bit far for lunch, 'Mione, don't you think?" he asked lightly, as she transfigured the nearby leaves into a comfortable blanket.

Hermione looked him over carefully. He looked pretty much as she expected, and, more importantly, sounded right. This was the Harry she knew, she was fairly certain – on the plane trip over, he had been reading a book on quarantine containment, inspired by Rigel, he said, and over the past day or so, in classes, it was the same Harry – same attitude, same carefree nature, same undivided devotion to Healing in general. He even pulled a prank their first night back, to welcome the first-years, he had said, though it was somewhat tame by his standards – just surprise fireworks over the dinner buffet, a prank which he himself described as "uninspired".

Well, there was no other way to approach the topic, so Hermione just barrelled on.

"Are you Harriett Potter, or are you Arcturus Rigel Black?"

His face stayed relaxed, breaking into a grin, but Hermione had caught the flash of panic in his green eyes. "What makes you say that, 'Mione?" he laughed.

Hermione listed it off, counting on her fingers. "First, it's the internships. You've been much more interested in your _cousin's_ internship than your own – you told me almost nothing about your Guild internship, even though I got the newsletter it was published in just to discuss it with you. But you were so interested in Rigel's Healing internship in Wizarding Colombia. Second, as I told you, I volunteered at the Maywell Clinic all summer, and I barely saw you even though I _know_ you were in the lower alleys almost every 's not like you to avoid a clinic of any type, and it's suspicious that you never mentioned it to me before, even though you clearly knew about the Clinic before. The way that Healer Hurst and her son talk about you, it's obvious that they know you fairly well, but you never mentioned it. I know it must be nice to have somewhere over the summer where you can be yourself, but that explanation only goes so far – especially when it seems that most of the alleys know that you're actually a girl, anyway.

"Third, when I thought of those things, I did some research on your cousin, Rigel. I went to the Ministry records, again – Arcturus Rigel Black is the only son and Heir to the House of Black. His mother is listed as deceased, young for a witch, which means it was either illness, accident, or foul play. I couldn't find any news reports in the Daily Prophet around that time for the last two, which would be expected given the Black family's prominence in wizarding society, which logically means it was illness, which lends itself well to an interest in Healing – and infectious diseases, specifically." She glared at him, and Harry – or maybe Rigel? – looked at a loss for words.

"And if you were _actually_ a boy, it would explain why you are so insistent that you are a boy – because if you and your cousin switched places, it would be easier for both of you to pretend to be boys. And, and… it wouldn't make sense for Harry to be here and pretend to be Rigel over the summer for the internship, so… I think you're actually Arcturus Rigel Black, here to take advantage of the best Healing program in the western hemisphere, and your cousin Harriett Potter is taking your place at Hogwarts, where she actually has to pretend to be a boy but, more importantly, pretends to be a pureblood. Nothing else fits the facts as well." She jutted her chin out stubbornly, almost daring him to challenge her reasoning.

He wasn't looking at her, but was instead lying back, staring into the trees, an uncommonly grim expression on his face. She prodded him impatiently in his side, demanding an answer.

"I'm thinking," he snapped. She withdrew her hand in surprise. Harry never got angry, particularly at her; though on the other hand, having essentially accused him of either blood identity theft or aiding and abetting in blood identity theft, she shouldn't be surprised. She thought, in his case, it was more likely the latter, but this wasn't like brewing an illegal potion, or even stealing Polyjuice as they had in their first year.

Still, wasn't his very reaction confirmation enough?

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Hermione tried, tentatively. "Don't lie to me, please, Harry. I can't say I approve of what you might have done, but I can't _help_ you if I don't know the truth. I don't like that you've chosen to avoid blood prejudice instead of confronting it, but if that's what you've done, then I'd rather know, so that I can help you – or at least, I'll know enough not to put you in danger by accident."

Harry started laughing, a slightly harsher sound that Hermione was used to, but a laugh nonetheless. He sat up and grabbed her hand, executing an awkward bow over it. "To be technical about it, _I_ wasn't the one avoiding blood prejudice. I just wanted to go to the school with the best Healing program in the western hemisphere. You're the cleverest witch of our generation, 'Mione. Arcturus Rigel Black, at your service."

XXX

AN: In my head, this is followed shortly thereafter by Hermione tackling Archie and asking if that's what he really looks like, and him dropping the disguise and Hermione being shocked about it. Of course, I also think I might ship Archie/Hermione, so… there's that. But that wouldn't be for a few years anyway. As always, constructive criticism welcome!


	6. Riddle

Tom Marvolo Riddle was not a fool, nor did he suffer fools gladly. That was a principle that he applied to all, including to himself, whether it be himself as it was, or that idiotic mistake of a shadow he had created as a child. They said that one reaped what he sowed – and perhaps he did just that.

So perhaps he could be forgiven for failing to see it earlier. He was not one to forgive, so he was reluctant even to forgive himself, but it was true that his mind had long been occupied by other things. He supposed that the earliest he could reasonably have figured out Black's – or, to be correct about it, Potter's – trick was the New Year's Gala in the boy's – rather, the girl's – third year. He had known something was off, then; there were too many things that didn't add up.

First, they had looked far too alike for it for two wizarding children of different lineages. For all that he was a half-blood, a secret he fastidiously kept from even his Party, he had spent many decades among the highest echelons of Wizarding society. He knew the Houses well, and he knew that the Potters and the Blacks had not intermixed directly for centuries. The Blacks were an old, traditionally Dark House – and the Potters, a traditionally Light one. Before Sirius Potter came along and upset the balance, the Potters did not deign to mingle with the Blacks, and vice versa. While all the old Houses were linked to some degree, the Potters and the Blacks were, compared to most, quite distant. He had heard the rumour that the boy, Rigel Black, had some sort of passive metamorphism that had fixated on his cousin, but such a thing would defy Wizarding genetics as they knew it. Between a complete upheaval of the tried and true theory of absolute inheritance and an unknown method merging their likenesses, well … given Miss Potter's obvious and known penchant for ingenuity, he would prefer the latter.

Second, the boy was not a Parselmouth. And yet, he was. He had heard evidence of the talent himself at the Malfoy's annual garden party not six months before that New Year's Gala, when the boy – the girl, he would have to correct himself – successfully _blackmailed_ him into staying out of Hogwarts. She had hissed at him, had she not, in the serpent tongue? Yet, not six months later, he was puzzled by the boy's failure to hear his low, hissed comment, as though he had not heard at all, as though Parselmouths could not hear the serpent tongue several decibels below normal. That, in and of itself, was a minor thing, but combined with the others, it was telling. The boy was not a Parselmouth – and that meant that the girl was.

Third, there was the _incident_ on Elder Ogden. Both the boy and girl had shown their Healing talents, which were not especially surprising given that the boy was allegedly learning from the girl – or the other way around – but what _was_ surprising was that they had done so allegedly using each other's wands. The wand chooses the wizard, as the wandmakers said, and one would never get quite the same results from another's wand as their own. And that pathetic fib about how they had swapped after flying? Please. A wizarding mother would sooner mistake a stranger's child as her own. He had gone to Ollivander himself, several months after that incident, only to confirm what he already knew – the wand chose the wizard, and one would never get quite the same results with another's wand. A wand could not have dual allegiences, but in some, rare, situations, sometimes a wand could be made to act _almost_ in the same way. Ollivander was not definitive about it, stating that it was "quite theoretical, speculation, even", but he had been skeptical of the notion, which Tom had read in his aura, even as he said the contrary.

Ultimately, it came down to power, and power did not lie. Rigel Black was powerful – and the girl was powerful. The girl had discovered Shaped Imbuing almost as an accident, an experiment, and anyone who threw that sort of power around without a thought was powerful. It was a technique that only the powerful could use, the powerful and immensely controlled – he, himself, had done it once or twice, though Potions were not his forte, and this was not a technique for the magically weak. Therefore, Harriett Potter was powerful – and so was Rigel Black.

Elder Ogden's healing would have taken a fair amount of power for even an above average wizard – and yet, though neither child's aura had changed, it was Rigel Black who fell on the feast shortly thereafter to replenish his core, rather than the supposedly weaker Harriett Potter. There was no reason for the children to lie about who did spells, and in any case, he had felt the spells being cast by both children that night. They were not the same – one leaned Neutral, the other Dark - but power did not lie, and the power they expended that night was apparently nothing to Harriett Potter.

It fit. It was Harriett Potter who was the powerful one of the duo. It was Harriett Potter, using her _own_ wand, who had helped her cousin Arcturus Rigel Black heal Elder Ogden. It was, therefore, Harriett Potter who was the Parselmouth, and it was Harriett Potter, the half-blood like himself, who managed to blackmail the strongest wizard in a century. It was Harriett Potter, ingenious Harriett Potter, who had found a way to mesh her appearance with Arcturus Rigel Black so closely.

Which meant, of course, that it was the secretive, half-blood, Harriett Potter who had the audacity to enter into pureblood-only Hogwarts under the her cousin's name. It was a daring, insane scheme – almost the sort of thing that he would have dreamed up. It would be Harriett Potter, too, that carried a strain of his magic within her.

It was unfortunate, then, that she stood so opposed to all that his Party stood for. In better times, he would have considered how to best bring her to his fold – there were always enticements to be made, baubles to offer. Perhaps a select loosening of the pureblood-only policy, to allow her sister to attend Hogwarts, if she proved similarly powerful, or perhaps a rewrite of the Marriage Law. Perhaps something simpler, even – a high position in the Ministry, the Potions Guild. Certain arms could be twisted to ensure that she had her pick of Potions Masters to apprentice under, certain deals could be made to ensure that Harriett Potter saw success. And, at worst, there was always her family – people could always be counted on to do what it took to protect their families. And such a large family that Harriett had, too, such a large family which meant so many points to put leverage on, even without that little addition of magic he had given her.

But, these times being what they were, he could not indulge himself in such charming thoughts. A certain Lord Voldemort was flitting about, as annoying as it was, causing terror even among his own Party – while to a certain extent, he recognized his other self's fanaticism, it was clear that the magic holding his construct had deteriorated. It was frustrating in the extreme to see his aims flustered by his own, deteriorated, utterly mad and yet powerful piece of magic.

Therefore, most regrettably, he would not be able to entice Miss Harriett Potter into his Party. She would, however, be most helpful in eliminating that annoying bit of magic calling itself Lord Voldemort. If she survived, and only then, would he would indulge himself in considering the very best method of bringing the powerful, powerful witch into his Party.

XXX

A/N: Another chapter to tide everyone over until Violet posts another update! This time, we finally don't get someone who is automatically on Harry's side - even if he doesn't break the ruse. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated, and would love to hear your thoughts too!


	7. Lucius

_AN: By many, many, requests, here is Lucius' moment of realization. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It was February.

He had never liked February. The days were normally short, though brightening towards the evenings as the sun set ever later, but it still felt later than he would ever have liked. The magic of the holidays and of the New Year were long gone by February, along with any sense of mystery and wonder, and the days simply felt short, dank, and gloomy. Even Narcissa, aside from her customary joy around Valentine's Day, slipped into silent reserve towards the end of the month. Even so, this February, things were unusually severe.

Lord Riddle had told him very little about a certain Voldemort, though the figure loomed large in their community consciousness. As strongly as Lord Riddle denied any connection, Lucius could not ignore the fact that Voldemort, as the creature called himself, bore distinct resemblances to Lord Riddle. That was a thought that could not be admitted, of course – Lord Riddle was strangely sensitive about it.

"Think of Voldemort as my … mistaken brother," was the most that Lord Riddle had ever said about that.

Still, the presence of Voldemort loomed large in the SOW Party's minds. Some of their Party, Lucius suspected, had already defected to the new, revolutionary, group – Dolohov had been most frank about it, but he had a niggling suspicion that the Lestranges, too, would soon be making their move. The division was not an easy one, and given the … attacks that had begun over the autumn, times were increasingly uncertain.

Lucius, however, kept faith in Lord Riddle. He had come to power as Lord Riddle's right hand man and his most trusted advisor – he did not, could not, believe that any monster of a relative would best the strongest wizard and most calculating political mind of the millennium. The safest place would be beside his side, and it was in this context, and with an eye to a life debt that hung in the balance between the Malfoys and a certain Rigel Black, that he brought the matter up. Lord Riddle was in a grim mood, but then, he always was these days.

"My Lord, about Rigel Black…" he began.

"What about the … boy?" Lord Riddle looked at him sharply, but Lucius did not miss the cadence of his words. Something was not as it should be.

Lucius chose his words carefully. "Only that, my lord, the boy is powerful and has unfortunate Muggle connections. While Draco is trying to bring him further into our fold, I am … uncertain that this could be accomplished without considerable efforts. Perhaps, if I could be so bold, if he and his extended family were offered … protection, during these times, it may … encourage him towards the Party in the future."

It did not sound so bad as that, really. Rigel Black _was_ powerful, and Lord Riddle had long expressed an interest in taking the boy under his tutelage, in bringing the boy into Party circles. It was, therefore, a surprise when Lord Riddle simply quirked his head to one side, an odd sort of smile hanging over his lips.

"Forget the boy," Lord Riddle said, after a long, strange, moment. "I tire of waiting for him to come to his senses, and we have other problems to attend to. What has Narcissa learned of Bellatrix's inclinations?"

It was unlike Lord Riddle to simply dismiss something out of impatience. Rather, as a politician, Lord Riddle had waited years for many of his plans to come to fruition – for him to simply say he no longer cared about the boy after only a paltry few years at this attempt was, indeed, quite out of character.

Lucius was missing something.

XXX

It took months of thinking, of careful questioning of his son, before Lucius worked it out. The first clue Lucius was Lord Riddle's strange emphasis on the word "boy" – as if he had considered saying something else, but interrupted himself before it could happen. What else was he intending on saying? There must have been something odd about Rigel being a boy.

Draco had mentioned that Rigel was odd. Rigel slept in his clothes and was unusually repressed about touch, odd given Lord Black's propensity for physical contact. Was Rigel hiding something about his body? Was Rigel, in fact, not a boy? And yet, that, too, would not make any sense – daughters were prized in pure-blooded families, being as they were few, and there was no reason for the Blacks, with the standing they still possessed, to feel the need to have a daughter masquerade as a son. That, too, would be out of character for Lord Black, who notoriously doted on the Potter daughters as much as his own son. And, if there was something else physiologically wrong with the boy, it did not show, and it would not lead to the odd use of the word _boy_ unless it was something so intrinsic about gender that…

Really, what other interpretation was there? Lord Riddle had as much as said it. Rigel Black was not a boy. Given the probabilities of options other than boy and girl, Lucius would be willing to bet that, therefore, Rigel Black was a girl. However, as Narcissa had confirmed, there was no reason for the Black family to conceal the birth of a daughter and force their child to grow up as a son, unless Sirius himself had inherited the family madness, and since Sirius seemed to be perfectly in possession of his faculties otherwise, he found that unlikely. There was also the fact that Rigel acted differently when with his father, as compared to all other times Lucius had interacted with him. The earnest flirt of a child that Rigel displayed was nowhere in sight normally. Between those two pieces of information, Lucius found it likelier that Rigel Black _was_ a boy, and that, therefore, _this_ Rigel Black, who was not a boy, was therefore not one and the same as Arcturus Rigel Black, Heir of the House of Black.

That only left the question of exactly who _this_ Rigel Black actually was. And, of all the possible questions, this one was actually the easiest.

Who knew Draco well enough to step into the shoes of her cousin during the Quidditch World Cup last year? Who possessed the skill to develop the shaped imbuing technique and the potion that had allowed them to escape the damaged stadium without being trampled? Who, indeed, looked oddly similar to her pure-blooded cousin, Arcturus Rigel Black, and shared so many of the same skills, knowledge, and talent? Harriet Potter, half-blood and Heir to the House of Potter, fit the bill a little too closely.

XXX

The only question now, he supposed, what was he should do about it.

It was obvious that Lord Riddle had already worked this out – he had no idea how, but then, there was a reason Lord Riddle was one of the most brilliant minds of the century. And if Lord Riddle knew about it, and had done nothing, that meant that he had his own plans for this matter.

Lucius was not inclined to disturb his Lord's plans, and that left doing anything particularly active out of the question. This information was, however, still useful – all he needed to do was _tell_ Rigel that he knew, and Rigel would almost certainly use that life debt to keep him silent, and that would be it. There was no good reason not to confront Rigel – _Harriett –_ about it quietly – there was only the ability to get his House, his family, out of a life debt.

Blood before honour.

And yet, just as he was setting his quill to parchment, he stopped.

If his suppositions were true, which he believed quite likely they were, then that meant that Harriett Potter was powerful. Perhaps the most powerful witch this century. And Harriett Potter was best friends with his son, Draco Malfoy. While, once, that would have been a reason to separate them, now, in this current climate…

Perhaps it would be better to wait, and see. As troublesome as it was, Harriett's power would be a strong shield for Draco.

Blood before honour, and while this life debt hung over them, Harriett was to be treated as blood, and if this meant extra protection for Draco, then so much the better.

He set his quill down and slid the parchment, empty save a blot of ink, back into his writing desk.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you everyone for reading and for your encouraging reviews! As always, happy to read your reviews and happy to receive some constructive criticism. With Lucius, I think the main difficulty is that he has fewer clues than most of the others, so I had to invent some plausible ones. Then, of course, I had to get over the hurdle of "But what would he do and how would Harriett get around it?!" because of course if he told her, Harry would just use her life debt, and that is actually an advantage for him to be able to control the nature of her request... An interesting thought experiment, and interested to see how you all think I managed it!_


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